


the state of being (and other human logical fallacies)

by gonta



Series: Smile, You're on Camera! [4]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Backstory, Gen, POV Third Person, Pre-Canon, Spoilers, kiibo minus kiibo if you can believe that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-22 22:15:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10706232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gonta/pseuds/gonta
Summary: [MAJOR NDRV3 SPOILERS]Like a sculptor lovingly coaxing a figure from a block of marble, he manages to bring his creation’s primary personality to the forefront, so much so that he can almost see him rollicking around in his mind’s eye.





	the state of being (and other human logical fallacies)

**Author's Note:**

> OD ch10 will be coming soon just bear with me
> 
> "but sou" you ask. "how can you make a pregame kiibo fic if kiibo didn't really exist before the events of the game?" well, my nonexistent fictional child, read on and see.

It’s 5:00 in the morning and the room is awash with darkness, save for the feeble glow of a single computer screen. The man squints into the light, his mind a backwash of the footage he’s been made to spend hours and hours editing. His hand loosely wrapped around the computer mouse, he allows himself a moment of solace - the majority of his higher-ups have left for the night, most likely sound asleep in the kind of plush beds only owned by rich people.

He wonders how they can sleep.

Stifling a yawn, he returns to picking through execution footage. It’s the Super High School Level Opera Composer this time, forced into a janked rendition of _Don Giovanni_ ’s being-dragged-into-hell scene. He assumes that one of his fellow interns or a higher-up came up with that, and he can imagine them grinning as they relayed the ideas to an executive. Joy at the death of teenagers - it’s nothing if not frighteningly normal.

The man rubs his eyes with a free hand, wondering how it was that his life had come to this. No matter how he tries, he can’t seem to recall how many season’s he’s worked on.

But he has a deadline to make, and his edits for season 52 are due by the end of the week. The man shuts his eyes, trying to ignore the discomfort that’s settled in his stomach like a strange lump under an intricate rug. He returns to clicking through the footage, deleting the unnecessary angles and cutting together the scene. Desperate are his attempts to avoid looking into the pained eyes of the contestant.

According to the break room talk that he’s overheard, she was fourth in the preseason popularity poll. Only beaten out by the “protagonist” (who was always at the top no matter how boring they were), a boy whose sordid appearance and backstory he had bore witness to being developed, and Rantarou Amami, who had turned out to be that season’s survivor. The fourth-ranked contestant was also someone who volunteered at food banks before she signed up for the show, and was very popular at her school.

What could drive a person like that to sign up for the world’s worst elimination game?

The question is uncomfortably close to home, so he disregards it. Asking things like that won't contribute anything towards his paycheck.

He’s nearly cobbled together a full execution package when he feels a hand on his shoulder, and his entire body stiffens.

“Hey. Intern. Shouldn’t you be heading home?”

The man who speaks is one of the higher-ups, a faceless being in a suit like the rest of them. He’s barely interacted with anyone who isn’t another intern, and the interaction sends giger-scale waves up and down his spine. The computer screen illuminating his tired, gaunt face is still frozen on the contestant being dragged into “hell” - likely just a pit of comical, music-related weapons.

_(Had anyone on the team actually even seen Don Giovanni?)_

Eyes downcast, he mumbles his response. “I don’t really… have anything better to do,” he cranes his neck up to peer at the higher-up. “I wanna get my work done before the weekend,”

That’s a mere half-truth. He’s barely been able to sleep since he started this job, his mind overrun with edited footage and the executions that he’s helped build.

The other man nods. “Fair enough,” he assents. “But really, you should get home. Why don’t you take tomorrow off - you’re going to make yourself sick, overworking yourself like this.”

He almost comments how it’s hard for him _not_ to be sick in this kind of twisted place, but he wisely keeps his mouth shut. “...Right,” he murmurs, saving his work on the computer and beginning to stuff the various documents littering his desk into his messenger bag. Rising to his full height (or as full as it can be, considering his permanently slumped shoulders), he prepares to make his exit from the room.

“Iidabashi-kun, is it?”

His question stops him in his tracks - he had been expecting to be able to make a quick getaway. Cautiously does he turn to the other man, his heavily-bagged eyes fixated on him. But he has that distinct expression of bemusement only at home on the faces of people who don’t view this whole enterprise as being morally dubious.

Complacency?

His gaze softens. “You’re a good kid. We’re going to start auditioning for season 53 soon - we have a job for you.”

Swallow. “You do?”

“Yep. But don’t concern yourself with that quite yet, alright?” He smiles, the expression feeling _too_ warm.

Iidabashi stares at him, taking a mere second to glance at the Team DanganRonpa pin affixed to his lapel. “...Alright. Th-thank you, sir.”

The man doesn’t say anything else as he hurries out the door, looking as disheveled as ever.

The images stay in his mind on the train home, and as he lays wide awake in bed in his cruddy apartment.

But that’s just the way of things.

 

* * *

 

“A what?”

Reo Iidabashi, a fairly ordinary guy, sits uncomfortably in the stiff chair in one of the executives’ offices. It would be a pretty professional space if not for the _DanganRonpa_ merchandise adorning the walls and desk. Old season promos, figurines, a signed photograph of the executive and the actor who played Nekomaru Nidai - why did they stop using actors and start using real people, again?

He gets the feeling that if he asked, they wouldn’t tell him.

The executive steeples her fingers. “A robot,” she repeats. “We’re aiming to add more audience participation in this season - what better way to do that than to allow them to have a say in the game itself? Besides, we haven’t had any robots in the game - unless you count Monokuma, of course - since Mechamaru all the way back in season 2.”

Iidabashi nervously tugs at his collar. “That was fictional, wasn’t it?”

She folds her hands, letting them rest on the desk. “It was,” she admits. “But this is different - in the story, that guy wasn’t a robot to begin with. And at this point, we have the means.” The executive jabs a finger at him. “You’ve shown a proficiency for technology while you’ve worked here, so we want you to build it.”

“M-me??” He gasps, beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead. When the higher-up from a few days ago said that they had something special for him, he was expecting a heavier workload or maybe a few extra yen added to his meager paycheck. “But I…” he points a finger at his chest nervously. “But I’m just an intern, right? Why would you want _me_ to-”

“You should know that, shouldn’t you?” The executive’s voice is quieter than it was before, and his muscles tighten. The seat almost feels slippery on his back, as if he’ll slide off if he makes even one wrong move.

Iidabashi scratches the back of his neck. “I guess… I mean, yes, ma’am. I understand.”

Her face breaks into a smile, her eyes briefly flickering to the photo on her desk. “Good, then. We’ll add to your paycheck for this. Thank you for your cooperation.”

“Uhh, yeah. No problem,” he mumbles before hurrying out of the room and down the hall, past another logo-clad intern who happens to be loitering around. He doesn’t acknowledge her, but her cerulean eyes follow him until he turns into another corridor of the labyrinthine building.

She adjusts her glasses.

 

* * *

 

Iidabashi’s wastebasket becomes a mountain as he attempts to churn out blueprint after blueprint, each time becoming increasingly unsatisfied with his own designs. He’s tried everything from a fanservicey girl android (that would bring in the ratings they’re so concerned about, he thinks with an air of uncharacteristic smugness) to one who almost resembles a mascot. An intern happens to see the second one, and he watches as the expression on her face turns to skepticism.

“The mascot focus should be on Monokuma, shouldn’t it?” she questions, finger to her chin. “Having two mascot-looking characters, especially if one doesn’t carry the monochrome theme, might be jarring.”

He isn’t in any position to disagree, so he just nods and crumples up the piece of paper.

The girl continues talking. “I heard that they're putting five more Monokumas in this season. Do you think they're running out of ideas?”

“Six… Monokumas?” He grips his pencil. “How would that work?”

When she shrugs, her long hair bounces up and down with her shoulders. “I don't know. If it were up to me, I'd get rid of them as soon as I could.”

“I can agree with that, I guess,” he mumbles. Iidabashi takes out a new piece of paper and starts a new draft. The girl ogles him for a while before returning to her own duties.

But there's something about her that gives him the chills.

Maybe it's that hungry look on her eyes when she was talking about getting rid of the Monokumas.

 

* * *

 

The girl visits him several more times before he's finalized the robot’s design, each time offering some of her own pointers. It's clear that she has no knowledge of robotics. He appreciates the company, but something about her still fills him a distinct sense of unease.

“You have to give him an ahoge,” she suggests at one point, even though he can't recall asking.

Iidabashi stares at the paper, not meeting her gaze. “Do I?”

“Yeah, you do! Every protagonist has had one. Ahoges are to _DanganRonpa_ as special moves are to _The Prince of Tennis_ , as long and drawn-out battles are to _Dragon Ball_ !” She slams her fist into her palm with a soft _whump_. He just shuts his eyes so that he can't roll them. What the hell is she even talking about?

Just to shut her up, he draws the biggest, most obnoxious ahoge he can on the drawing, and looks up at her with a tired expectancy. To his surprise, she smiles. “That's good! Oh, I've got it. You said this was an audience participation thing, right? What if his ahoge was an antenna?” She splays her fingers out. “For broadcasting!”

“That's…” Iidabashi struggles to find the right words. “That's really good, actually.”

The intern grins, swinging her legs back and forth from where she's sitting in the Team DanganRonpa HQ break room near him. “Say, Iidabashi-kun. Auditions are gonna start soon. The executives asked _me_ to help them with character backstories!”

“That's nice,” He almost says her name, but realizes that he doesn't know it.

She ignores his opinion and continues. “I was here for auditions last season, too. They're so much fun! And I hear that Amami-sama is going to be here at some point!”

“...‘sama’?”

“Why not? He's _really_ popular, after all! I hope I get to meet him…”

As she prattles on, Iidabashi puts the last finishing touches on the design. He scans over it, from the clunky boots to the angular shoulders to the outrageous strand of hair sticking out from its head. A strange sense of satisfaction washes over him.

The girl notices, too. “Oh, that's good! I like it,” she states. “It kind of reminds me of Naegi-kun, from the first season. I've heard that they're going to revive the Hope’s Peak story with this one!”

For all he knows, she could be making that up. News spreads fast around Team DanganRonpa, but he usually never hears it. He simply nods.

It's time to get to work, then.

 

* * *

 

His normally sleepless nights are now occupied, years of experience from extracurricular activities and robotics learned in his own free time finally put to use. Time is divided between his apartment and one of the workrooms in Team DanganRonpa HQ, his careful hands fumbling with all matter of circuit boards and metal. It seems as though that one time he took apart and reassembled a camera in middle school is finally coming in handy, he thinks as he places one in one of the robot’s eyes.

Slowly but surely, the project starts to come together, developing from an array of random parts into discernible limbs and eventually a real humanoid form.

The girl intern is scarce lately, though she sometimes sees her in the breakroom. She's usually poring over some manga or _DanganRonpa_ related content.

Iidabashi isn't surprised. Most of the people in the office are such huge fans of the series that they buy the merchandise of it that they could get for free by association. But he's never liked the show, never liked this job.

There are two ways to become a Team DanganRonpa intern.

The first is by signing up when they are hiring, usually out of love for the series, the television industry, or just straight up murder cases.

The other, however, is different.

Auditions begin, and the lobby is almost always occupied by gaggles of teens waiting for their place in the sun. Iidabashi holes himself up somewhere in the building, taking back routes when he needs to leave. The constant talk of _DanganRonpa_ coming from the lobby is almost worse than what he hears on the daily. At least then, it’s from people who know how the show works.

Not from innocent teenagers trying to be famous.

 

* * *

 

The executive raises her eyebrow as she looks over Iidabashi’s finished project. She runs a hand through its white hair and pokes each of the buttons that line its chest. When she turns back to him, it's with a smile.

“This is pretty good!” She says, and he blushes. “You really understand the design sensibilities of _DanganRonpa_.”

He doesn't mention the girl intern with the long hair to her.

The executive continues. “It's really well built, too. I'm impressed, Iidabashi-kun.”

“Thank you.”

“But… there's still the matter of personality.”

Iidabashi freezes, his eyes frozen at their previous wideness. “Huh?”

She puts her hands on her hips. “Normally, we’d go to the people who work on the personality and backstory scripts with this, but he's going to need an AI. Can you do that, too? We’ll pay you, and-”

“H-hang on…” Iidabashi finds himself wheezing. “I th-thought you said that it was going to be audience-controlled? Why would he need a-”

“It is,” she says. “The audience will know that. But the players can't.”

“...Right.”

And just like that, he has to force himself to not think of the contestants again.

 

* * *

 

Iidabashi is completely inspiration-blocked. The girl intern is nowhere to be found, and he's drawing nothing but blanks when it comes to the robot’s AI. One of the tech interns has agreed to help him on programming it, but that doesn't matter if he can't come up with anything good.

He has an idea, but he decides that it's too risky to go ahead with.

But something happens that changes his mind.

Auditions are long over by now, the last auditionee having left ages ago. The lobby is quiet now, and he can pass through it as he likes. Normally, there’s no one there save for the bored-looking receptionist.

After a long day of trying to brainstorm and coming up with nothing, he heads down to the area to go home. His mind drifts to simple pleasures that he’s been denying himself ever since he took on the job of building the robot - going out for dinner, seeing movies, spending some time at his favorite bookstore. Maybe he’ll do one of those tonight, he thinks. He deserves it for all his hard work.

But shouting coming from the lobby shakes these thoughts from his head, and he looks up from his phone to bear witness to a rather strange scene. There’s a girl he’s never seen before standing with her hands slammed down on the receptionist’s desk, her teeth grit in an expression of exasperation. “You’re kidding me,” she says to the person at the desk. “You’re absolutely kidding me.”

“We’re not… kidding you, ma’am,” the receptionist says. Iidabashi is nearly tempted to interfere, but his quiet nature causes his feet to be fixed to the floor as if they’ve been covered with wax.

The girl tosses her wavy hair, and he gets a good look at her features - she has thick eyebrows and a beauty mark below her right eye. Attractive, but touched with a distinct coldness. And anger. A lot of anger. “I’m telling you to fucking _void it_ . Void the damn audition. I don’t give a _shit_ about your stupid show, I don’t want him to be in it.”

The receptionist lifts a lazy eye towards her. “Who are we talking about?”

She smirks, but the expression is terse and strained. “Don’t act like you don’t know. Little guy. About yea big,” She makes a vague gesture that indicates a person much smaller than Iidabashi would think possible. “The kind of person you clowns like to make jokes out of.”

“We can’t void an audition without the express permission of a contestant. Apologies.”

Her hands are shaking now, and she stares straight into the receptionist’s eyes. “I’m his _fucking girlfriend_. I don’t want him to die just because of some stupid reality TV show.” Positively consumed with rage, she points a finger at them. “Your show’s a goddamn human rights violation. Don’t you ever think about the people affected by this shit?”

But the receptionist has already returned to their work. “We hope you tune in to season 53, ma’am,” is their only response.

She clenches her fists, and it’s only then that she notices Iidabashi standing there. The glare she gives him is so cold that he feels the hairs on his skin raise. Then, she turns on her heel and marches straight out the door.

He’s left staring after her as the receptionist shuffles a few documents around. “That’s the kind of person who they kill off in the contestants’ fabricated backstories,” they mutter.

“Have there… have there been others?” A feeling that he hasn’t felt for a long time begins to crawl its way into Iidabashi’s brain, rattling around in his skull as if begging to be let in.

“Sure there have. There’s a lot this season, though. Some creepy guy’s sister, another boy’s uncle… I wouldn’t concern yourself with that.”

Iidabashi thinks about the girl for the rest of the day.

Why did he think he deserved _anything_ for ruining people’s lives?

He lies awake in bed again that night.

 

* * *

 

There are two ways to become a Team DanganRonpa intern.

The first is by signing up when they are hiring, usually out of love for the series, the television industry, or just straight up murder cases.

The other, however, is different.

 

* * *

 

“Please state your name and number.”

“Uh, Reo Iidabashi… Number 72? Auditioning for the… 49th season.”

“We both know why you’re here, no need to reiterate that.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“It’s not a problem. So, tell me. What do you hope to gain from being on _DanganRonpa_ , Iidabashi-kun?”

“A-ah, well… I really did like it back when they used actors. The characters and the plot really intrigued me…”

“Uh-huh.”

“But y-you guys started using real people… two seasons ago, I think. And that’s not… it’s…”

“Take your time.”

“Thank you. I’m hoping to get on and raise awareness for the fact that using real people for this and not just actors playing characters is a bad idea. M-maybe then they’d go back to using actors… I’m not sure I should be saying this.”

“Nothing wrong with being honest.”

“I f-figure I’m probably a good person for this. I’m kind of expendable, but I’m president of the Robotics Club at school. People know me, and they’d… well…”

“Right. So this is the part where I’d normally ask what Super High School Level Talent you’d want your character to be, and what they should be like.”

“Oh, um. I was thinking the Super High School Level Roboticist-”

“I wasn’t finished. These auditions have two purposes. One, to find contestants for the next season of _DanganRonpa_. The other… to pick out people that are too smart, like you.”

“I’m afraid I don’t underst-”

“How do you feel about internships, Iidabashi-kun?”

 

* * *

 

The next day, he runs into the long-haired intern girl again. Her face lights up when he approaches. “Aah, Iidabashi-kun!” She clasps her hands together. “Boy, do I have a lot of stuff to tell y-”

“In the cast,” he blurts out. “Is there a really short guy?”

The girl takes a moment to consider this. “There’s a few short guys. How short are we talking?”

“Really short. Really _really_ short.”

“Oh. I think I know the one. We haven’t really started on his development, we’ve mostly been focusing on this one other kid. We’re gonna do a callback to Junko Enoshima with him, and-”

“I just have one favor to ask,” the girl from the reception desk’s words reverberate in his head. “Could you… maybe not make him a joke character?”

She adjusts her glasses. For a moment, he fears that she’s going to ask why. “...The few times a nonstandard has been sympathetic and/or not played for comic relief, ratings have gone up… those characters have often trounced other ones projected to be more popular in the character polls and in online circles, despite the fact that they’re typically last…” she mumbles inanely to herself for a few minutes, as if she’s forgotten that Iidabashi is even there. But as soon as he goes to leave, she snaps to attention. “Oh! Sorry, I rambled again. I can try.”

He allows himself a rare smile that belies the weariness in his eyes. “Thank y-”

“It’d be much more impactful on the audience if a character like that died, anyway. Causing a sort of ‘despair’... it’s merely hypothetical, of course, but imagine what it would do for ratings!”  
Iidabashi’s face falls.

He tried, but he may have made it worse. Stupid him.

But maybe, just maybe, there _is_ something that he can do.

 

* * *

 

The programmer who’s helping him with the AI sends him a blank base that day, just as was planned. “You can customize it to your liking,” they explain in the email, “I just did the heavy work. Go hog wild with it.”

He types back a hurried thank you and quickly gets to work. He instills the traits that he knows won’t be affected by the audience who will soon be puppeting around his masterwork - seriousness, politeness, a bit of gullibility and emotional clumsiness to balance it out. A good formula for a likeable character, judging by the older seasons that he’s seen. Like a sculptor lovingly coaxing a figure from a block of marble, he manages to bring his creation’s primary personality to the forefront, so much so that he can almost see him rollicking around in his mind’s eye.

When that’s done, he sits back and examines his handiwork for a moment, then swivels his chair to face the door. More specifically, the window right above the knob.

Four pieces of paper later, the window is covered, and he continues his plan.

Iidabashi delves deeper into the program and manages to code some basic memories. Giving himself a gratuitous cameo, he writes himself into the career he always truly wanted before he sold his soul to the silver screen. His ears prick up whenever he hears someone outside of the office, but they usually pass the room by without a single thought.

He tinkers with the program until he reaches the deepest part, the part which his compatriot likely did not assume he would access. Somewhere that the audience likely wouldn’t be able to reach, either. A sleeping subconscious of sorts. The strings of numbers and commands are almost incomprehensible to him, but he manages to piece together their meaning fairly quickly.

And in his creation, he plants the seed of rebellion that he himself once held long ago. The will to make decisions, even without an inner voice to guide him.

Maybe he’s being too idealistic and naive, but he doesn’t care.

The final thing he adds to the AI - to the person he’s Frankensteined into existence - is a name. The struggle of coming up with one is almost as arduous as the design process, and he cycles through several ideas before landing on a final, ironic one. Something that this ruthless machine he is tied to loves, but does not truly know how to provide.

Iidabashi smiles to himself, and types five letters into the computer.

 

* * *

 

The executive lady lauds him for his work when he shows it to her, proclaiming that he’s done a wonderful job for an intern. She even offers to promote him, but he mumbles that he’d rather stay in his current position. An eyebrow is cocked at that statement. But if she has anything to say about it, she keeps it to herself.

The crew is going to collect him tomorrow, so he’s allowed a few moments alone with his creation. He examines his prone body, his dead eyes which have not yet taken on life. He practically emanates opportunity and new beginnings, an opportunity to accomplish that which has for so long eluded him as he’s been tied to Team DanganRonpa. The scene - a man staring at a robot - would be awkward, but for him, it was everything.

He doesn’t open his mouth to speak, but the message is obvious.

_You’re going to do great things. Make me proud._

 

* * *

 

Iidabashi sits in the breakroom, eyes on the clock. His shift is nearly over, and he thinks that he truly will be able to sleep when he gets home tonight. Maybe he’ll even call his parents. When’s the last time he’s done that?

His eyes move from the clock to a large, handmade sign that’s been affixed to the room’s bulletin board, among yellowing posters from past seasons. Judging by the freshness of the ink, it’s been put there fairly recently. There are only two underlined words on the entire paper, but their meaning is frighteningly clear.

_Mastermind signups._

The first time they used real people for this, he recalls, they selected the mastermind from the auditionees. But that proved disastrous - despite the season having high ratings, the mastermind dropped to the bottom of the popularity polls faster than anything he’d ever seen. The only reason he knew this was because the executives had given everyone on staff a Long Talk about the situation, and how it was not to happen again. Ever since then, the interns have been able to sign up for the chance to take on the position.

Strange, considering how half the interns are people who were supposedly far too smart for _DanganRonpa_. But a corporate job can break anyone.

The paper is free of signatures, adding to its relative recentness. Iidabashi’s eyes flick back to the clock. Just two more minutes, and he can take the train back home.

The door flies open, and in steps the long-haired intern girl. Her glasses gleam in the fluorescent ceiling lights, and she stands with a purpose that he’s not used to seeing from her. As he watches, she marches straight over to the signups sheet and writes out her name in neat, curvy handwriting. The girl takes notice of him only after she’s finished, and she flashes him a peace sign and walks right back out the door again.

The blue pen ink is so fresh that it almost drips down the page.

_Tsumugi Shirogane._

The minute hand on the clock makes contact with the twelve, and it’s time for him to go home.

 

* * *

 

There’s a young boy who sits next to him on the train ride home, nondescript in every possible way right down to his black bowl cut. As Iidabashi looks at him, he takes note of his rumpled gakuran and his schoolbag. A tag attached to the zipper reads _MAKOTO_ , and he can’t read the surname. He’s completely absorbed by his cell phone -  upon closer examination, Iidabashi realizes that it’s a _DanganRonpa_ fansite.

Against his best interests, he lets out a cough. The boy’s attention breaks from his phone, and he curiously looks up at him - then, at the Team DanganRonpa pin that he’s forgotten to remove from his shirt. Makoto’s eyes widen.

“You work for…!” Awe is prevalent in his boyish voice. Iidabashi knows he should smile, but discomfort seems to be his constant friend in these situations. “Awesome!” the boy states emphatically. “When I get old enough, I’m gonna audition! Do you think I could make it?”

Iidabashi slumps forward, his eyes trained on the scenery outside of the train window rather than on the boy. He’s almost at his stop.

“Um, mister?” Makoto asks, concerned. “I asked you a-”

The train grinds to a stop.

“No, I don’t. You won’t be able to.” Before the boy can respond, he’s slung his messenger bag over his shoulder and walked straight towards the opening doors. But something makes him stop, and he turns back to the confused boy. “Makoto, is it?”

“Uhh… yeah. Like Makoto Naegi.”

Iidabashi shakes his head. “No. Just Makoto.”

As he steps out onto the station platform, the doors slam shut, carting the young _DanganRonpa_ fan to parts unknown.

Iidabashi looks up at the blue, blue sky, and squeezes his eyes shut tight.

It’s a beautiful day.

 

* * *

 

Team DanganRonpa HQ might as well be on fire.

The day of the final trial is usually an occasion for celebration - it’s when ratings are highest, since Junko Enoshima is an infallible fan favorite. Even Iidabashi is a little pleased to discover that his proverbial son has lasted this long into the game. The reveal goes just as everyone on the team expects, if not better - he feels odd, however, when the robot wants to take the path of hope. He slowly prepares himself to settle into disappointment, but the detective starts talking. His words _enrage_ the other employees, but they fascinate him.

But just like that, everything stops.

The Kiibo that Reo Iidabashi lovingly programmed is gone, replaced by an empty shell full of fans’ desires. Phones are ringing off the hook in the office, and it seems like everyone won’t stop _screaming_ at each other.

But the decision made is the one he wanted. So why does he feel so odd?

Iidabashi’s eyes follow the robot as he zips about Gifted Prisoners’ Academy’s dome, firing off the blasts that will put an end to these killing games once and for all. The last thing he sees onscreen before he turns around is the intern girl sordidly waving. She stares straight into the camera, as if the gesture is meant for him.

Then a rock comes down and crushes her in the perfect antithesis of the executions he once edited.

Boom.

He feels cold, hard eyes turning towards him, and his whole body feels like melting candle wax. But an adrenaline like he’s never felt before takes hold, and he staggers to his feet.

And he _runs_.

Down the stairs, down the hallways, past similarly freaked-out interns and executives. Down the expanse of the lobby, passing by the overloaded receptionist, and bursting straight out into the street and the chaos present.

In the middle of the crowds of screaming people, right at the forefront, is the girl who protested. The one who had seen the wrong in the whole situation. Almost a kindred spirit.

While the legions of _DanganRonpa_ fans continue to rabblerouse, she casts her intense gaze onto him for one silent second.

She extends one hand out.

And he takes it.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first appearance in one of my own fics of Seia Kamio, my own expansion of a character introduced in some v3 Free Time Events and never really characterized. I expanded upon her for rp purposes but got too attached. You might have seen her mentioned offhandedly in ikuzonos' "The Friends We Used To Know". You can expect to see more of her in the future.  
> Also, I think this is the first v3 fic that features Makoto. wow  
> by the way - it's confirmed within canon that they only started using real people as contestants fairly recently. (https://danganronpam.tumblr.com/post/159740135464/fun-fact-about-ndrv3-9). I just filled in some blanks.
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please be sure to leave a comment and/or kudos! Comments would really mean a lot to me, I've been having a terrible week. Thank you so much.


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